Templar's Tavern
by willoffire123
Summary: Our favorite Templars throughout time gather in a pub in London to air their grievances. Because it doesn't matter how much you hate your nemesis. Your struggle is the hardest. Therefore, your nemesis is the best Assassin.


**Willoffire123: Ooo this'll be fun. I don't own Assassin's Creed. On with the show!**

* * *

 _Take a look round lively old London,_

 _Buzzing crowds we sweat and we revel,_

 _Red cheeked shouts and songs in the flicker of the gas light_

" _Cazzo,"_ cursed Cesare Borgia. "Will this retched man not shut up? My ears are bleeding!"

"Calm yourself, son," said Rodrigo Borgia, "Making a scene will bring dishonor to our family."

"If he doesn't shut up, we could always make him shut up," suggested Ahmet. The Ottoman Prince took a swing of his ale, made a face, and shoved the mug away from himself hard enough to slosh ale on the shirt of Charles Lee.

Lee wrinkled his nose. "I'm sure a filthy mongrel such as yourself would be perfectly capable of doing so. I quite despise the city of London and would rather not go traipsing around for yet another bar for you to get us kicked out of."

"What's the worry, my friend?" chuckled Robert de Sable, "We're in London! Surely Altaïr and the Levantines cannot reach us from here. The most powerful assassin force in the world is too far away to find us! Life is grand!"

A hush fell on the Templar Table.

"Altaïr?" scoffed Charles Lee. "Really, Robert. An assassin that can't swim is hardly worthy of being called "powerful". You now have access to guns, something your backwards country and the assassins stationed there surely do not possess. Remind me why the so-called 'prodigy of the Hashashin' is our greatest concern?"

This was met with snickers.

"And I suppose the colonial rite, which you _already eliminated,_ is not the reason your plans have halted long enough for you to come to London?" huffed de Sable.

Lee scowled. "The savage fights in a way befitting to his title. If I had more men loyal to only me, the native boy would have been slaughtered long ago. But Master Kenway-"

Cesare cackled loudly at this. "Your greatest assassin is the son of your grandmaster. That never ceases to amuse me."

"You shouldn't be talking, Borgia," interjected François-Thomas Germain, "How is it that neither of you, nor Ahmet, have managed to eliminate the Auditore boy? _C'est ridicule."_

This received loud complaints from the three Templars.

"You've never met _il bastardo_ ," Cesare said hotly.

"His charisma is the only reason he is still alive," Rodrigo snarled.

"It is true," agreed Ahmet, "The man has a talent with turning everyone to his side. Even my own nephew!"

At this, Ahmet flopped on the round table and sobbed and sobbed until Torres took pity on the Ottoman Prince and knocked him out with a swift blow to the head.

"Poor man is too drunk for this," Torres said sadly, "Now Germain, why is it you have yet to dispose of Arno Dorian? The man has already been disavowed by the french council of assassins."

"Dorian seems more Templar than assassin to me," said de Sable.

"Meanwhile, you allowed a drunken pirate to wander directly into your home, steal your sage, and murder all your lieutenants," German snapped, "Jest at Arno Dorian, dear Torres, once you've delivered Edward Kenway's head on a spike."

Lee nearly choked on his swing of ale at these words. "Did you just say 'Kenway'?"

"Yes, Edward Kenway," Torres said impatiently, "What, you did not know that your grandmaster comes from a long line of assassins?"

This, at last, renders Lee speechless.

"Mr. Dorian may seem like an ally, but should his beloved Èlise profess any ill will towards our order, he will rejoin his brothers in an instant," said Germain, "Arno Dorian has slaughtered far too many of my men to call himself a Templar. The boy is at the heart of our revolution; killing him has proved difficult."

"If you say so," scoffed Torres.

"Where is our host for the evening, anyway?" demanded Charles Lee, "Surely Starrick knew where we were meeting?"

"Well there's no use waiting for him here any longer," said Germain, "I have two carriages waiting for us outside. Shall we?"

"You know, gentlemen," said Torres, "I've just had a thought."

"Oh don't keep us in suspense, dear Torry," Lee drawled.

"It's about the row we just had," Torres continued, ignoring the pompous patriot, "We may think that our respective assassin foes are the deadliest in the business, that surely our fight is more arduous than anyone else's fight. But think of Starrick."

"What, the Fryes?" scoffed Cesare, "They are mere children."

"You're full of it, Borgia," Torres said calmly as the band of Templars exited the Tavern into the damp London air, "The Frye Twins are just as deadly as any of our foes. Like our nemeses, the Frye Twins are some of the best the Assassin Brotherhood has to offer. And gripe as I might about Edward Kenway, I pity Starrick."

"Your point?" sniffed de Sable.

"Oh you are all idiots," huffed Torres, "The Frye Twins, like Altaïr, or Ezio or Connor or Edward or even Arno, are some of the best Assassins in the world. Now, for Starrick's sake, consider this:"

Torres opened the door to one of Germain's carriages and out fell Crawford Starrick, stab wounds gushing from both sides of his neck onto the cobblestone.

" _There are two of them."_

* * *

If the brave band of Templars had dared search for Starrick's killers, they may have discovered two shadows swathed in the London smog. Like hawks studying their prey, these shadows sat perched on a nearby rooftop, regarding the men anxiously piling into carriages with interest.

"They look frightened," one of the shadows mused.

"They should be," said the other, "We've found their hideout."

"Dear brother, we have discovered the location of every major Templar leader in the world," said Evie Frye.

"I am aware of this, dear sister," said Jacob Frye.

"We should really tell the others," said Evie, "Although…"

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" said Jacob.

"They _are_ all in one place," Evie admitted reluctantly, "And it would be an ideal way to prove ourselves to Altaïr…"

"Shall we, sister?"

"We shall, brother."

The twins split into identical, mischievous grins and without another word, slipped back into the fog, ready for the hunt. For even though their superiors had so far failed to kill their targets, the Frye twins knew they would succeed.

After all, two heads are always better than one.

* * *

Willoffire123: I know, I know I'm terrible for not updating any of my old stories in months by now but I'm in college now and I still get distracted easily and-

Edward: Oh shut up already so we can go home.

Willoffire123: …

Edward: Finally! Until next time!


End file.
